


Dunked In Blue

by pop_incognito



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Falling In Love, First Kiss, FreeVDay2019, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Piercings, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 04:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pop_incognito/pseuds/pop_incognito
Summary: Makoto Tachibana started a band in his early twenties in the hopes of meeting up again with a boy he met in a mosh pit who stole his first kiss. Haruka Nanase is the lead guitarist of a rock band that is rapidly sailing into stardom until a new band starts to muscle onto the scene.Natsuya Kirishima and Nao Serizawa are rock legends from the band Tiger Shark. With the threat of the band's dissolution looming over their heads, they have to choose between trying to keep it together, or letting it go to focus on mentoring the new artists under their management.





	Dunked In Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benicemurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/gifts).



> HELLO!! This is my project for the Free! Valentine's Exchange 2019 - my recipient was the lovely @benicemurph! I hope you like it :D The following three parts will be uploaded soon, hopefully. I went a little overboard with this, so I hope that's okay /sweats/ I really enjoy band AUs, so it sort of took on a life of its own. Also thank you to Twitter for helping me pick a title :P. Enjoy, everyone, and happy Valentine's Day!

The concert is in the basement of a shady theatre way out the back of Iwatobi, and Makoto has been pressed against the front row barrier for nearly half an hour by the time any of the bands actually show up on the stage. Up first is Asahi’s Rock Water, and Makoto flips up the hood of his jacket – he has no issue getting splashed with the water that the pink-haired bassist often squirts over the crowd when he thinks they aren’t responsive enough, but the eponymous lead singer is going through a spitting phase right now, and that’s one liquid Makoto isn’t so keen to get on his face. At least, not from Asahi anyway. A mosh pit springs to life to the thumping rock songs the band pumps out, Asahi’s smoky voice whipping everyone into a frenzy to the hot bass Kisumi is plucking.

A surfer dives over Makoto’s head and he ducks, blank-faced and well-practised at avoiding the flailing legs and arms as they get tipped onto the stage. Makoto lets himself be pulled into the living dance of fists and foreheads for a few songs before the crowd spits out him out at the barrier again, a few spots further to the right than where he had been earlier. Stumbling into – and nearly _over_ – a short boy to his left, Makoto grips the metal grating on the front of the stage until something shifts in the crowd, and he finds himself leaning his whole torso on the stage to keep from getting crushed. He sticks his elbows out on either side to ward off anyone falling on his back and catches Kisumi’s eye when he turns his head, both of them grinning brightly in the stage lights.

“Alright, fuckers,” Sousuke growls at the end of the set, having been roped in to act as security for the night by the theatre’s owner. “Everyone back the fuck up off the stage, or you’re all be out on your asses!” And Makoto can breathe again, briefly left alone with bruised ribs and other people’s sweat dripping down his legs as Asahi, Kisumi, and the rest of ARW clears their gear off the stage. “Come on, Rin, don’t make me haul you out by your hair!” Sousuke snaps, pointing at the red-head who usually spends most of these shows surfing the crowds. Sousuke loves him really.

The lights dim once more, and Makoto’s breath hitches slightly as the reason he had picked up three extra classes at the swim club so he could afford tickets walks onto the stage, everyone around Makoto suddenly picking up more energy and swarming forwards. People from Iwatobi don’t usually hit the big time – one of the many drawbacks of such a small town – so whenever their own semi-famous rock band comes back home, the crowd gets a bit rowdy, especially in such a small venue. Makoto can’t help but scream along with the rest of the crowd when Natsuya grabs the microphone and dips the stand down, licking his lips and smouldering out at the crowd.

“We are Tiger Shark, hello Iwatobi!” Natsuya roars, flicking his head and sending wild bronze curls already shiny with sweat tumbling around his angled jaw. “You’d better welcome us back with a big fucking pit tonight, you hear me?!” The answering bellow from the crowd almost drowns out the drums as Seijuro crashes them into the start of their set.

Thrusting his fist into the air, Makoto looks adoringly up at the stage, his mouth open in a soundless scream as the crush of people around him steals his voice. He is directly in front of where Nao is standing with his gorgeous custom Fender, the whole body of it carved and painted like an eye, and Makoto can see straight between Nao and Natsuya to where Tsubasa is standing on the drum rise, bass all decked out with bright yellow strings. The night is going to be a fucking epic show, Makoto can feel it.

Halfway through their newest single, ‘Free Drowning Lessons’, the pit really picks up, surging forwards as the bass drops, and Makoto is knocked flat on the stage so quickly the breath flies out of him and he stays there, dazed and bent in half, panting for a minute and loving every second of it. When he finally opens his eyes again, he’s looking straight at the boy next to him, and the boy is also shoved partially on the stage. He smiles at Makoto, all blue eyes and a lip ring and a fresh bruise on his cheek under a long navy fringe. He looks as ecstatic as Makoto feels, and Makoto is quick to return the grin. The boy’s face looks sort of familiar, like Makoto has seen it on a flyer or something.

Natsuya starts talking as the song ends with discordant feedback from his guitar and a whole lot of bass distortion that makes Makoto’s teeth ache. “It’s been a long time since we were last in Iwatobi, so this one goes out to all of you who have stuck with us while we fucked around in Tokyo-”

“That’s your own damned fault,” Nao jokes offhandedly, tuning his guitar and toeing at his pedal board, winking at Natsuya when the singer flicks a pick at his head.

“So, we wanna dedicate this one to all of you, it’s off our debut album ‘Hard Ass, Smart Ass’, it’s called ‘Home is Where Your Heart Breaks’, and it goes a little something like this!” And he slams his new pick down into a sharp, blistering riff and leans sideways, his back crashing against Nao’s as their fingers blur with the speed of the song. “I wanna hear everyone singing!” Natsuya yells into his microphone when they part, and Makoto obliges, signing along with Natsuya.

The blue-eyed boy is singing too, and he has tears brimming in his eyes. Makoto can sympathise – he can’t count the number of times he’s bawled his eyes out to this song – and Makoto snatches the boy’s hand up on instinct, their fingers curling together as the boy shoots him a thankful look. There’s a dolphin tattooed on the boy’s bare forearm, the tail brushing his knuckles and its nose curved into the crook of his elbow. _Beautiful_ , Makoto thinks.

Natsuya stirs the crowd up to the point that when Sousuke tries to calm them down a bit, a hand seizes his wrist and he gets dragged into the fray, shrugging and deciding to just enjoy it. Sousuke loves the music as much as anyone else there. Makoto and the boy keep their hands connected through the next three songs until Kisumi suddenly appears between them, glistening with sweat and body glitter and throws his arms around Makoto’s shoulders as he yanks his legs down from being surfed all the way from the back of the venue.

“How’d we do?!” he hollers in Makoto’s ear, and Makoto flashes Kisumi a thumbs up before Asahi’s hand curls around Kisumi’s neck and yanks the bassist back into a filthy kiss that shouldn’t be seen in public.

His friends get swallowed by the crowd, and as Rin tumbles over the front row onto the stage – again – Makoto is reunited with the boy once more, a slim, strong hand wrapping around Makoto’s wrist and the vine of roses tattooed there. “Do you mind?” he mouths. Well, he probably says it, but Makoto left his earplugs at home and the music is so loud that he can feel it in his bloodstream, so Makoto can’t actually hear the boy.

“Not at all!” Makoto shouts back none-the-less, turning his arm so they can hold hands again.

On stage, Natsuya has caught Rin around the shoulders before Rin could jump back into the crowd, and Natsuya is holding his mic right up to Rin’s mouth, so Rin sings along for a few bars, his voice hoarse and scratchy, and then Natsuya shoves him back by the shoulders, laughing as the crowd catches Rin and takes him away somewhere. “Who’s next?” he asks coyly, spinning his stand around and holding it by the base so he can wave it over the audience. “How about you, green eyes?” Natsuya says, and the microphone is suddenly in Makoto’s face.

Makoto, who is usually quite shy and reserved around lots of people, has more adrenaline than blood pumping in his veins right now, and he seizes the mic with his free hand to belt the lyrics out passionately, green eyes locked with Natsuya’s own fiery brown ones.

The boy never let go of Makoto’s hand, and when Seijuro throws a drumstick at the back of Natsuya’s head because he’s been not singing for too long, Natsuya hands the stick to Makoto and blows him a kiss. “Damn, we like the ones who can sing, don’t we?” and the crowd answers with an unintelligible roar. The boy is looking squarely at Makoto with eyes that are shining with… something. Wonder, maybe?

Makoto doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next song Tiger Shark plays is his absolute favourite, the one that made him realise what he was feeling for other boys wasn’t a bad thing – ‘You’re Not Scared, You’re Just Bigoted’ – and both he and the boy are suddenly bellowing the lyrics at the tops of their lungs, fingers clenched so tightly Makoto has bruises the next day.

They only let go of each other’s hands when the set ends and they are forcibly separated in the rush of the crowd to flood both the tiny merch table at the back of the venue, and the smoking area outside, knowing the band members will be out soon to greet fans. The boy gets stuck against the stage and Makoto gets squeezed out of the crowd like toothpaste in a tube that just got stepped on. Makoto doesn’t even pretend to hide his disappointment – he had wanted to ask for the boy’s name, and his number too while Makoto was at it. There had definitely been something between them other than sweat and the music, Makoto could feel it.

“Oh my _god_!” Kisumi’s voice is fuzzy in Makoto’s ears as his friend descends on him once again, Asahi clinging to Makoto’s other side as they drag him to the merch table, waving artist passes that get the three of them to the front of the line. “You gotta buy one of the new shirts, Mako, I’ve been awake for days screen printing them!”

Gou, Rin’s little sister who often gets roped into selling merch because she can handle the fussy clientele with a sweet smile and vicious fists, waves at the three as they nearly crash into her table in Kisumi’s excitement. “Give him an extra large of the blue shirt,” Asahi tells her, and Makoto shakes his head fondly as he roots around in his pants pockets for stray bills. His pants are mostly comprised of patches and holes with just enough denim to keep them in shape, and Makoto keeps poking his fingers through the gaps before he withdraws some crumpled money. “Good boy,” Asahi crows, and Makoto loses his money and gets a wad of blue fabric lobbed at his head.

“Shit, this looks so good,” he tells Kisumi earnestly, and Kisumi beams. The front of the shirt has an art deco print of Asahi’s face on it, winking and poking his tongue out, the band’s name and logo swirling around in the background like dark blue ripples. Makoto folds the shirt neatly and slings his bag off his back so he can tuck it inside. “Come on, lets go outside,” he says, trying to edge his way out of the crowd clamouring for the Tiger Shark posters – Makoto already has the particular one being sold at the table, so he isn’t worried about missing out – and leading his friends out of the venue. “Did you hear if the Tiger Shark guys were coming out to meet people?”

Kisumi squeals and claps his hands, eyes going all moony as he starts gushing about how hot Seijuro is up close, and Asahi growls in mock jealousy before saying, “Well, Natsuya said he had family in the crowd tonight, so I guess they’ll be coming out?”

It’s Makoto’s turn to squeal, and he nearly leaves the other two behind in his haste to leave the building.

It’s. Really cold outside the venue, considering it’s the first month of Spring and Iwatobi doesn’t usually get very cold in the winter time. There are definitely snowflakes in the air, but Makoto doesn’t care as he lurks outside the back entrance hoping to catch a glimpse of the Tiger Shark boys. Asahi and Kisumi are smoking a few feet away, passing a joint back and forth under a No Smoking sign, a few of ARW fans hanging around them with their EP clutched in hand. Makoto snorts when Kisumi produces a sharpie from somewhere in his overly sparkly ensemble and starts signing things, and then turns back to watching the door.

“Hey,” a very quiet voice says directly next to Makoto, and Makoto jumps, shocked, looking over his shoulder to see the blue-eyed boy standing right there in front of him. There are so many things Makoto wants to say to the boy, like thanking him for making the show even more enjoyable than it already was, but the boy beats Makoto to the punch. “You’re friends with the Rock Water guys?” he asks curiously, peering around Makoto to blink at Asahi and Kisumi. When Makoto nods, the boy continues with, “Why aren’t you in the band?” genuine curiosity colouring his voice.

In the half-light of the back alley – which is still better lit than the basement they had just been in – Makoto has to stop himself swooning over this mysterious boy. He’s got more ink than Makoto, all of it water themed, covering every inch of visible skin from the neck down, and the side of his nose Makoto hadn’t been able to see has two thin silver hoops pierced through it. His hair is long on one side and swept over his face in a fringe that touches his chin, dyed dark blue and cut short on the other side. Makoto can see yet another tattoo peeking through the short hair behind the boy’s right ear.

“I can’t sing,” Makoto replies automatically, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The cold is making his nose run, and the ring in his septum is freezing. “Or play an instrument.” Neither of those statements are true, Makoto is just painfully shy and doesn’t like people looking at him too much.

The look on the boy’s face tells Makoto that he doesn’t believe a word Makoto is saying, but before he can say his mouth, and before Makoto can ask for his name, number, and maybe a date, a banged-up death trap of a van pulls up beside them, being driven by a ginger girl with a cap stuffed on her head backwards. She pops her bubblegum and lays her hand heavily on the horn before winding the window down. “Haruka, stop flirting with the scene kids and get in the fucking van. Nao is actually going to kill us if we miss this studio slot!” She rolls her eyes, gum popping again. “If he doesn’t kill Sei first.”

Makoto blinks. Nao? As in _Nao_ -Nao, Tiger Shark-Nao?

The boy, apparently named Haruka, closes his eyes and sighs deeply through his nose, clearly annoyed at having his conversation with Makoto cut short. At least, Makoto hopes that’s what the sigh means. He could just be reading into the situation a bit too much. “Whatever, Isuzu, tell the love birds to stop making out and open the back door.” And the thumps the side panel with a closed fist for emphasis. He turns back to Makoto, expression softening. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says. “My name is Haruka – what’s yours?”

“Me?” Makoto asks stupidly, always a little tongue tied around attractive people. “Uh, Makoto.” He blushes. “I had fun, too.”

A loud clatter interrupts them again as the back door of the van gets thrown open, a head of heavily mussed dyed-teal hair poking out. “We weren’t making out,” the boy grumbles, although his kiss-bruised lips say otherwise. “Get in, Haru,” he demands.

“Give me a sec, Ikuya, I’m doing something,” Haruka says bluntly, not taking his eyes off Makoto’s face. He opens his mouth, and is completely drowned out by Isuzu smacking the horn repeatedly, dangling her other hand out the window to flip Haru the bird. “Fuck, fine!” he says, a little louder, throwing his hands in the air. “Hey, I hope I see you on stage sometime,” is the last thing he says to Makoto. “You’ve got a great voice.” And then he surges up to steal a kiss in the dark alleyway, leaving Makoto completely speechless and watching the van drive away with his mouth hanging open.

That was Makoto’s first kiss…

A whole five minutes later, Makoto is finally snapped out of it by a drawn out, “Makooooo,” and he stiffly blinks, finally registering the hand waving in front of his face. “Kisumi to Makoto, do you read me?” Kisumi says, overexaggerated and slow. “Hey, snap out of it. The Tiger Sharks’ manager just told us they’ll be out as soon as they’ve finished packing their gear away.” He giggles a little, and Makoto shakes himself, finally paying attention properly. “And then he wants to talk to Asahi about taking us on tour with them!”

Makoto’s mouth drops open all over again. “Holy shit, no way!” he exclaims, and he drags Kisumi and Asahi into a hug.

“Hey, what were you talking to Haru about?” Asahi asks once the impromptu group hug of celebration is over.

“Haru?” Makoto’s eyes widen when something clicks in his brain. “You _know_ him?”

Asahi nods, making a face that says that Makoto should too. “Yeah… That was Haruka Nanase – he used to roadie for Tiger Shark, and now he’s in a band of his own. They’re pretty big around here, how have you not heard of them?”

An article from the January edition of IwatoBeat swims to the forefront of Makoto’s memories, ‘Five Bands to Watch out for in 2003!’ with a massive feature on a new local band. “Oh my _god_ ,” Makoto squeaks, finally placing the boy’s face as he claps a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. “He’s the lead guitarist of Wet Hot Stroke!” Makoto owns their EP, he’s just never seen a picture of them outside of that magazine article. “They’re so good,” he moans, covering his face completely now. “I made such a fool of myself, fuck.”

He can hear Kisumi and Asahi laughing quietly at his plight, and Makoto sticks his finger up at them, flashing them the literal bird with the mid-flight dove tattooed on the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, Mako,” Asahi says around a chuckle, “at least you’re endearing when you’re to flustered to talk like a human being.”

“I hate you!” Makoto moans through his fingers, sending his friends into more laughter.

At that moment, the heavy door at the back of the theatre bangs open, hitting the wall as it admits the members of Tiger Shark into the alleyway, Natsuya hooting excitedly from his perch right up on Seijuro’s shoulders. “It’s so good to be home!” he yells happily, waving his arms around as Seijuro scrambles for a better grip on Natsuya’s thighs lest the singer fall off backwards and crack his skull open on the pavement.

“Get down!” Nao pleads, tugging the hem of Natsuya’s shirt ineffectually. “You’re going to hurt yourselves.”

Makoto peeks out through his fingers and his heart does a spectacular somersault of exhilaration at the sight of his favourite band standing all of ten feet away from him. The alleyway is suddenly crawling with people, all of them clamouring for photos and autographs as Natsuya slides down Seijuro’s back and plants an apologetic kiss right on Nao’s lips, earning himself a reprimanding tug to the ear and a soft smile. The action makes the lingering feelings from holding Haruka’s hand flutter up strongly in Makoto’s chest, and he decides to hang at the back of the crowd until he can get his stupid traitorous facial expressions under control before asking anyone in Tiger Shark to sign his ‘Hard Ass, Smart Ass’ CD, the liner notes already in his hand.

Fate has other plans, and a booming voice suddenly calls, “Asahi!” and Seijuro Mikoshiba is edging through the crowd to throw his arms around Asahi’s shoulders. Seijuro is tall, has brightly dyed hair, and a personality so large you can see him coming a mile off, and he is standing directly between Asahi and Makoto, close enough that Makoto could easily touch the drummer’s back if he so chooses.

He chooses not to, and immediately freezes up from the nerves. Makoto is relatively new to actually seeing live bands – his mother never let him go to many local gigs because she was afraid he would get injured, and he had to watch his younger siblings most of the time, but Makoto is twenty now, and he lives in university housing, and he’s allowed to do what he damn well pleases. If his first mosh pit ended up with a trip to the ER and a broken hand, his mother never has to know.

“Are you okay, Mako?” Kisumi asks quietly, distracting Makoto from where Seijuro is telling a very keen Asahi that the Tiger Sharks’ manager is already confirming tour dates for the next six months and all that is needed is a physical signature on a contract before Asahi’s Rock Water is signed on as the primary opener. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Makoto has never met anyone famous before, and although many people would argue that Tiger Shark aren’t _actually_ famous (they’re certainly not walking the red carpet at the Grammys – yet) they’re famous enough in their own genre of the music industry. “I think I am going to be sick,” Makoto murmurs. “They’re right there.” The band that made the last four years of Makoto’s life actually tolerable. “I’m gonna die.”

“Who’s dying?” another voice questions brightly, and Makoto jumps when a warm hand settles on his shoulder.

Natsuya Kirishima is the first thing Makoto sees when he turns his head. Makoto’s _life_ , seriously. His face instantly heats up and his brain kind of short circuits for a moment. “I, uh, shit. Um. Uh.” And then he stares imploringly at Kisumi to rescue him from this situation before Makoto spontaneously combusts.

“Relax, green eyes,” Natsuya laughs, expression softening into an understanding smile. “I saw you rocking out down the front tonight – you’d fit in on stage. Ever thought about giving it a go?” As he says it, he takes the CD liner notes that are hanging limply in Makoto’s hands and scribbles his signature over the front, flipping it over to write something on the back of it. “Nao, get your cute butt over here and sign stuff for Asahi’s friend!” Natsuya calls out, reaching out and snagging Nao’s arm, the guitarist seemingly materialising in Natsuya’s grip.

Nao comes baring Tsubasa, and suddenly Makoto has all four Tiger Shark signatures on his CD and he’s posing for a photo with them without even registering it happening. He wants to say something to them – he managed to tell them his name, but the words just refuse to come out. Makoto wants to thank them for their music, for their presence in his life, for how vocal they are in interviews about things that impact Makoto’s life, like his sexuality. He wants to tell them that they inspire him.

In the end, Makoto ends up walking back home on his own – Asahi and Kisumi have to go have that meeting with Tiger Shark’s manager, and Makoto feels awkward hanging around all by himself, just watching the band meeting and greeting their other fans. He tucks the CD cover back into his bag, along with the polaroid that Kisumi had snapped of him with the band, and heads for his dormitory, hoping that his roommates won’t be too annoyed at him for getting home too late. They had all wanted to come with him, but last-minute assignments and papers had kept them all back. School work should have kept Makoto home too, but nothing was going to stop him going to see Tiger Shark, not even the wrath of his professors when he has nothing to hand in the next morning.

Without the distraction of his idols, Makoto finds himself thinking about Haruka. Those blue eyes, his smile, how soft his lips had been for the fleeting moment they were pressed against Makoto’s. He wants to feel that again, over and over again. Makoto wants to see Haruka, to talk to him, to do _more_ than talk with him. How on earth is Makoto going to make that happen for himself?

One stupidly crazy idea occurs to him as he is crawling into bed half an hour later, freshly showered and feeling like a human being again now that the only fluids on his body are condensation and After Ink spread over his still-healing chest tattoo. As Makoto absently traces the lines of the as-of-yet uncoloured ocean scene, he squints at his roommate in the dark.

“Hey, Rei. Rei.” After receiving no response except snoring, Makoto picks up the Tiger Shark keychain off his bedside table and lobs it at the exposed shoulder he can just make out on Rei’s bed, accidentally dislodging a pile of IwatoBeat issues onto the floor in the process. “Psst, Rei, wake up.”

Rei groans and a flailing hand emerges from the blanket, glow-in-the-dark watch a blur as Rei checks the time. “What the fuck, Mako? It’s ass in the morning. What do you want? I have a class in four hours.” His other hand appears, feeling around for the keychain that he promptly throws right back at Makoto.

Obligingly, Makoto yelps playfully and then he lays down on his side, he and Rei staring at each other across the short distance between their beds. He can see his magazines sprawled across the floor, various faces of Tiger Shark members on the covers of all of them. Makoto’s bed is covered in magazines, and CDs too, and his blankets make odd clacking noises whenever he moves. “Let’s start a band, Rei,” Makoto says quietly. “You and me. Nagisa. Rin might even join us, he’s a beast on the guitar. We can do it.”

“Was the show that inspirational?” Rei asks curiously, leaning up on his elbow. “You know we’re already in a band, right?’

Makoto flaps his hand. “I mean a real band – a rock band, not a group of people who sit in a room and play covers on shitty university rentals.”

Rei snort. “Whatever you say, Mako,” he says, already sounding like he’s falling asleep again. “But I’ll leave convincing Rin up to you, because you know he and Gou come as a package deal – and Sousuke will tag along if those two do.” Humming quietly, nearly asleep again, Rei adds, “If we start a band, we’ll need a MySpace page…” and he sounds so happy and hopeful that Makoto has to stop himself from laughing.

“You and that website, Rei,” Makoto says instead, shaking his head in the dark and settling down properly. “I swear, you must generate over half of its revenue you spend so much time on it.”

Rei humphs, but says nothing to defend himself, so Makoto counts that as an admittance of guilt to a MySpace addiction.

Later, in an issue of IwatoBeat that gets printed about them, Makoto will cite that very conversation as the exact moment that their band was brought to life, in a haze of sleepily exchanged barbs about MySpace at four o’clock in the morning. It’s not like he’s going to tell a magazine that the real reason he started a band because Haruka Nanase stole Makoto’s first kiss, and Makoto wanted to try doing it again, is he?

The band that would become known as ‘Dunked in Blue’ had been born.

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter will be out ASAP! Please leave comments of encouragement, and kudos!


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